I was a sophomore in college, it was late October of 1967. I discovered I was thirsty all the time and could not sit through a 50-minute lecture at any point in the day. I had to run out to any close-by restroom and empty my bladder. On the way back to the lecture, I always had to stop by a water fountain and get a large drink of water.
I headed home for Thanksgiving and shared my health issues with the entire family. My sister pulled out several volumes of our family encyclopedia set and went into her bedroom.
At age 63, having missed my annual physical due to COVID and ignoring obvious signs of polyuria and polydipsia, the results of my A1C being over 14 came as a shock. My previous readings were in the 5.6–5.9 range. Overnight, I went from a pancreas transplant surgeon to a type 2 diabetes patient on Lantus and metformin. Having been treating kidney failure patients from diabetes, it was a shock. I requested and convinced my endocrinologist colleague to prescribe me a CGM (Libre 2) in addition to a finger prick monitor.
I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at the age of 13, and my two siblings and mother have type 1 diabetes as well. Growing up, there were always things that I was told I couldn’t or shouldn’t be able to do. I wanted to join the military but knew that was out of the question. I still wanted to serve my community like both my mother and father had done. My mother was in the US Army when she was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, so I had grown up around the disease. My mother had told me I could still do many of the same things other kids could, just differently.
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